


the webs we weave

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Fic, Fucking, Oral, Peter Parker - Freeform, Sex, Spider-Man - Freeform, Stalker Peter, deceptive peter parker, noncon, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The reader is a journalist at The Bugle but she finds not all her co-workers are what they seem.Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (oral, intercourse)This is dark! (aged up) Peter Parker x Reader and explicit. 18+ only.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 292





	the webs we weave

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a long one but I got a bit carried away. I tried to fit the request as much as I could. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy. Leave some feedback and a kudos if you can <3

Another late night. Those were common as of late. Early mornings, too.

Given the content of your days, the stories, it was expected you’d be sleepless. A string of assaults across the city. All of them women. The perpetrator, according to the limited input of the police and the hesitant interviews of the victims; a man, masked, faceless. The descriptions varied, skewed by fear, by trauma. Neither you or the authorities had a concise picture of the suspect.

The first few incidents were reported by a senior report, Colin Rusk. But once the novelty ran dry, Editor-in-Chief Jameson, redirected Rusk to ‘more pressing’ stories and dropped the serial assaulter in your lap. 

You were new with little more under your belt than lifestyle articles and the occasional fluff piece on fleeting fads. Your inexperience made it difficult, if not impossible, to say no. And despite your resilience, your ongoing investigation, the cases would likely go cold and be shoved to the back of the paper until there was no room left for them. Your singular goal was to prevent that cynical end. Making your name as a reporter was secondary.

That morning, you raced down to the latest crime scene. A woman, blonde like most of the others, sat with her legs hanging out of a police car as she gave her statement. Visibly shaken and with bruises on her face, she was just the latest in a string. You’d not be permitted to speak with her until the police took her to the station and filed their report. For the time, you documented the scene as it was.

You were pulled back to your desk. It was almost as if you could still feel the dampness in your bones. It rained overnight and the streets had been slick and shiny in the afterglow. You pored over your notes, the little diagram you’d drawn of the alley way. The minimal details gleaned from the officers on sight. It was all so grim. And sadly familiar.

The attacker had a pattern; a demographic. Lone women, unsuspecting, vulnerable. Blonde, or light brunettes, small enough to be overpowered. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. There were thousands of women fitting that description in the city. Impossible to predict the perpetrator’s next move when it could happen anywhere.

You closed your eyes and leaned back. If the police couldn’t solve this, you surely couldn’t. But that didn’t mean you stopped. It didn’t mean you quieted the voices of the victims as so many others had. No, you kept going. Kept writing their stories down.

You were jolted as a folder slapped across your desk. Your eyes shot open and you looked up into the warm brown eyes before you. Peter mirrored your fright and gave a nervous smile. He pulled his hand away from the folder he’d just laid before you.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” He said. “I figured I’d give you a print of the photos I got this morning.”

“Really?” You reached for the folder and peeked inside at the glossy paper. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He preened. “Jameson won’t want them anyway. Just the ones of the fire on the next block.”

You nodded and set the folder down with your notes. You ran into Peter by chance. He was passing by on his way to his own assignment. He stopped and snapped a few shots, made his usual awkward small talk, and moved along. He’d only been full-time at the Bugle for a year; before he’d been a freelancer throughout his schooling. He was a kid, even compared to you.

“Jameson doesn’t even want this,” You scoffed at your messy desk. “I swear, he’s just trying to force me out. I mean, I guess it’s better than writing about the mayor’s new wallpaper.”

“Jameson’s an idiot but you’re a good reporter. Besides, the Bugle is just your beginning. I know it.” He smiled. He was always so optimistic. It made you feel old.

“Easy for you to say,” You shook your head. “I’m almost thirty and just starting out. You’re still a kid and...Sorry, Peter. I’m just frustrated.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I might be young, but I know how you feel.” He leaned on your desk. “You know, everyone thinks I’m a kid and they just don’t take me seriously but I’m not, you know, a kid. Age is just a number, not a deadline.”

“Peter, I didn’t--”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that. You’re not one of them.” He shrugged and pushed himself straight. “Not like Rusk.”

“Rusk?” You wondered aloud. 

The man was stern, business-minded. A tenured writer. But you’d never had much issue with him yourself. In fact, he’d been most helpful in your early days at the Bugle. You might be picking up his scraps but it was far better than writing a tenth of a page on a dog show.

“Yeah,” Peter blinked at you. His smile changed, as if he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, alright.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Peter.”

“Well, I...you’re not that naive, are you?” He asked.

“Am I? What do you mean?”

“Rusk never worked for his job, he’s the son of an old friend of Jameson’s. He came on full-time with top billing from the start.” Peter lowered his voice, cautious even though the office was empty.

“Oh, but...I mean, he’s still a good reporter.”

“Good but not entirely...professional.” Peter scoffed.

“Do I sense jealousy?” You teased.

“Me? Jealous of him? No.” Peter’s smile fell. “I’m doing just fine and the Bugle definitely isn’t it for me. I’m starting school next year and then one day, I’m out of here. I don’t wanna be a camera jockey forever.”

“I don’t know, this might be it for me.” You said. “A little late to be starting over a third time.”

“It’s never too late. Just don’t let yourself get sucked in by Rusk and his cronies.” Peter urged. “They’re no good.”

“Thanks, Peter.” You said lightly. 

“Really,” His face darkened. “I mean it. He has...a record in this office. With the women. And I’ve seen how helpful he is with you.”

“Peter, it’s not--”

“I know, I know, I’m young, clueless,” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. Just...advice. You don’t have to take it but it’s there.”

You nodded and tapped your fingers on the folder. You thought for a moment on your work with Rusk; his insistence that you take over his story; the way he offered to proofread your back page drivel. Peter might be young, but he was smarter than his age belied. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

“Thanks, Peter,” You flicked the corner of the folder as you looked up at him. “These will help a lot.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” His smile resumed. “Let me know if you ever need a lens. I’d be more than happy to help.”

“You’re too sweet.” You said.

“And you’re too humble.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “And it’s late so...I’ll leave ya to it and see ya tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” You chimed. “See ya, Peter.”

“See ya.” He slowly backed away. “Oh, and let me know if Rusk gives ya any trouble.” He gave a comical flex. “I got your back, newbie.”

You laughed and he did too before he turned away entirely. You turned back to your desk and sighed. How was it that he made you feel young and old all at once? You shook off the cloudlike feeling and grabbed the folder. You’d go through the photos and call it a night. Hopefully, the morning wouldn’t bring a new victim.

🕷️

Your door was open. The chain was snapped and the lock busted in. Worse, you hadn’t even heard the disturbance. Hadn’t even sensed the intruder as you slept in the next room. A rude awakening as you got up and found the door ajar but your apartment otherwise undisturbed.

You called the police and waited in the hall. When they arrived, they asked you their usual questions, the same they asked the women you’d been documenting. Then they investigated you apartment. Nothing was out of place; nothing taken or moved. It was all very peculiar. Almost, the insinuated, as if nothing happened.

When they left, your landlord arrived. You stood by as he called the maintenance man and a locksmith. By the late afternoon, your door was repaired but your wits were fractured. Weeks spent tailing a monster had you paranoid. In your overwrought mind, you wondered if perhaps their attention had turned on you. It all felt too circumstantial. Too farfetched.

You locked yourself inside and submitted your write-up from home. You spent the night on the couch, sleepless, listening for any movement from the other side of the door. Nothing. Exhausted and nervous, you fixed your coffee and dressed. You set off for the day, though the sound of your lock sliding into place gave you no reassurance.

There was another assault. You spent five minutes at the office before you were back out on the street. This one happened only a block from your building. _Was that another clue?_ A confirmation of your outlandish suspicions. You shrugged it off as you came upon the police tape; the scene all too familiar.

You went through your usual routine. Rebuffed by the police as you examined the sight for any clue. Listening to any morsel that slipped carelessly from officers and onlookers alike. You finished your notes and tucked them in your bag. You took one last look at the dumpster, the shadowy fire escape, and the cracked pavement. The image was burned in your mind. An omen of your new fear.

When you returned to the office, you were shaking. You didn’t realize it until you were sat at your desk with your bag in your lap, staring at a dead screen. The voices and typing all around you buzzed in your ears and you shuddered as you hugged you leather bag to your chest. The bright fluorescent bulbs burned your eyes and it felt as if they were watering.

“Hey,” You snapped your head up as Peter greeted you. His face was creased with concern. “You okay?”

“Ye-yeah,” You stuttered and let your bag slip to the floor. You kicked it under the desk and hit the power button of your computer. “Just...thinking.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“I...had to take a personal day.” You signed in and shuffled through the papers on your desk. “I’m here now, though.”

“Are you?” He asked. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, just...it’s a heavy story, ya know? Starting to get old.” You bent down to reach into your bag blindly, awkwardly craning your head up above the desk as you fished around.

“Hey,” A voice had you sitting up quickly. Peter’s eyes narrowed as you turned to Rusk. He wore his usual striped button up and skinny tie. “You rushed out this morning. I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you were?”

“Hmm, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered. “Just fine.”

“Yeah? Heard about the break-in. Scary stuff.” He put his hands on his hips. “You need anything, to talk, an escort, let me know.”

“Really, I’m fine.” You insisted. You glanced between Rusk and Peter; the latter watched you closely. “It was nothing.”

“Well, just know, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” Rusk winked before he turned away and you watched him stroll back to his office. 

You sighed and looked to Peter. His eyes were on Rusk’s door. You’d never seen him anything close to angry but he scowled dangerously after the writer.

“Break-in?” He said as his eyes drifted back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I...I don’t even know how he found out,” You sniffed. “Really, the police didn’t even take it seriously. There was nothing stolen, they didn’t touch me. I don’t --they think it was a drunk or something.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should be safe.” Peter insisted. “Look, I don’t blame you for turning away his offer, guy’s kinda a skeez, but let me walk you home.”

“I take the subway.”

“Then let me ride with you.” He said. “I know I don’t look like much but it’s better than being alone.”

“Peter, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.” He asserted. “Just humour me.”

“Why?”

“Because...we’re friends, aren’t we?” He asked. “Haven’t got many of those around here.”

You considered him and leaned on the arm of your chair. “Yeah, we are, Peter.” You grabbed your mouse and looked to your screen. “I hope you don’t mind staying late.”

“I’m a night owl,” He assured you. “Have to be in this line of work.”

🕷️ 

Peter was true to his word and waited for you until well after office hours. You were quiet as he walked you to the station and sat with you on the train. He didn’t hide his glances over his shoulders and his fleeting eyes, as if he expected to catch your intruder then and there. It was almost endearing.

You were tired. You needed sleep and were ready to doze on the train. Peter nudged you awake at your stop and followed you out onto the platform. He let you lead him up the steps to the street and you stopped at the corner.

“I think I can handle it from here,” You said. “Building’s just across the street.”

“No, I insist. For my peace of mind, please.”

“Peter.”

“What’s a few more steps?” He prodded.

“What if I’m worried about you getting home?” You teased. 

“I don’t live far.” 

“Still. It’s late.” You chided. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I did.” He said. “I’ve been out much later than this.”

“Ah yes, I forget. Youths.”

“I’m not much younger than you.” He insisted.

“Young enough.” You remarked. 

The street light glared in his eyes. For a moment, you were taken aback. The way the shadows cast his face. The innocent boy looked almost sinister.

“I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” He said. “So let me walk you to your door.”

“Alright,” You relented. His tone was disconcerting. So unlike the carefree upstart. “Come on.” 

He walked with you across the street and you bit your lip. You could feel the tension rising off of him. _Was he mad at you?_

“Peter,” You turned to him just in front of your building. “I’m sorry if I--”

“Sorry?” He looked genuinely confused. “For what?”

“Uh, nothing.” You shook your head. “I’m tired. I thought--Thank you. Really, I feel a little better.”

“Not at all,” He smiled. “You good?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Good night, Peter.”

“Night,” He said sweetly. “Just…” He hesitated before he could step away. “...remember that you’re not alone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” You nodded and took your keys from your pocket. “See ya.”

You listened to his light footsteps recede as you unlocked the front door. Inside, the elevator bore a staunch out of order sign. You grumbled and headed for the stairs. Ten floors up and you were out of breath and even more exhausted.

Your lock was still in place. That was slightly reassuring. Inside, it was dark and you didn't bother to flip the light. Too tired despite your paranoia. You dropped your bag as you neared the bedroom. There, you flipped the light switch and felt an unusual breeze across your front.

The window was open. The curtains stirred as the air washed in and your heart clutched. You rushed over and slammed down the window with a defeaning bang. You twisted the lock into place and turned back to the room.

Your top drawer hung precariously from your dresser. Your panties were messed, as if they'd been rifled through, and you felt the bile in your throat. 

You ran back into the front room and turned on all the lights. Nothing else had been touched. It all stood as you left it and no other sign of your intruder remained. Not a speck of dust out of place.

You searched high and low; in each closet, beneath the furniture, even behind the shower curtain. Nothing. You were alone, but you didn't feel it.

_Should you call the police again? Let them laugh at your paranoia?_ As it was, you were certain they'd tossed away their last report. 

You went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You sat on the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You hugged them as your eyes flitted nervously at each shadow. The knife shook against your leg as you counted the minutes until daylight.

🕷️ 

The morning saw you at the office, bleary-eyed and baffled. The night seemed a haze to you; dreamlike and distant. Before you was the final draft of your latest article on the city's terrorizer. The words were real, the events real, and the letters read bolder than before.

Your habit of spacing out at your desk once more had you jumping in your skin. Colin Rusk stood beside you. His grey-blue eyes peered down at you as he clicked a pen casually in his hand.

"You got a moment? Need to see you in my office." He asked but it wasn't a question.

"Sure," You stood and he reached past you. He leaned so close you could smell his cologne as he snatched the article off your desk. 

"I'll take this." He spun with the papers in hand and led you across the office. 

You glanced around as you walked between desks. Peter's brows were high on his forehead as he watched. He frowned and you turned away to follow Rusk into his office.

He closed the door after you. He waited for you to sit before he did. When he faced you, he was nonchalant. He dropped your article on his desk and smirked.

"You've done some good work." He said. "You should really be proud of yourself."

"Uh, thank you." You gripped the arms of the chair. Tired. Ready to keel over.

"Really. You're coverage is thorough and compelling. Riveting…" He huffed as he smiled piteously at you. "You're a good writer but this story isn't going anywhere."

"No…" You breathed weakly.

"Jameson wants it cut. Three months and no leads. Police are close-lipped as nuns."

You frowned. You couldn't help your disappointment.

"But I've got you a new assignment." He announced. "A grassroots movement in the ghetto. Silent protests. Real underground."

"Really?"

"As long as you don't mind sharing. It's kinda my story but I could use a hand." He offered. "That sound okay?"

"Y-yeah." You smiled. "I'd love--" 

His phone chirped and his brow arched. He grabbed it and checked the screen. He shook his head and slowly stood.

"Pardon me. Jameson." He waved his phone. "Right back."

He rounded his desk and passed you. You watched him go then sat awkwardly in his office wringing your hands. Your eyes bounced from corner to corner. Awards framed on the wall, a plaque on his desk, fancy pens and a leather folder. 

His bag sat on the table against the wall. Unzipped and on its side. Papers threatened to spill out and a shock of cornflower blue. You tilted your head at the familiar shade. 

You peeked over your shoulder. The door was open a crack but you saw no movement on the other side of the frosted glass. You stood and cautiously neared the table. You looked again. Nothing.

You lifted the bag to peer inside and ripped your hand away. It was as if you'd been bit. Those were yours, at least they looked like yours. You shook and heard footsteps near the door. You lifted your head and pretended to read the framed certificate on the wall as Rusk entered behind you.

"That was my first year here," He preened as he neared. "I'm sure you'll have one of your own soon enough."

"Uh, yeah," You stepped away from him slowly. "Um, can I... think about it?"

"Huh?" 

"Sharing the assignment."

"Sure. Only a day though. I, rather we, have a deadline," He reached out and pulled a string loose from your sweater. "That enough, sweetheart?"

You watched his hand a nodded. You bristled on the nickname and backed away. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to work." You sidled along to the door. "Thanks."

"No problem," He purred. "This could be it, you know? You're big break. Your name next to mine."

"Mhmm," You skirted out quickly and closed the door behind you.

Peter was at your desk. You didn't notice at first and stopped yourself from sitting in his lap. He watched you curiously. You held back a yawn and leaned against the desk.

"Peter." You crossed your arms.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"Just…my assignment got pulled."

"Oh?"

"But Rusk offered me a new one. Dunno if I should take it." You played with your mouse.

"Sorry, I'm in your seat." He made to stand.

"No, no, it's fine." You waved him off. "I don't really have anything pressing, do I?"

He considered you a moment as he swiveled in your chair. He stopped and sat up. "You okay?"

You blinked. After a moment, you nodded. You pushed yourself off the desk and rubbed your forehead. "I gotta use the restroom."

You walked away hurriedly and almost tripped over the loose laces of your heeled oxfords. You quickly hid yourself inside the restroom and tried to rein in your reeling nerves. You were crazy, you had to be. 

Rusk definitely hadn’t broken into your apartment. That was ludicrous. Maybe it was a pocket square or a random sock. It wasn’t your panties. That was just...creepy. You were just paranoid.

You couldn’t believe entirely in your own delusion but you had to push it aside. You had work to do, albeit not much. You breathed shakily and swallowed down your anxiety. Just be normal. Just relax. Act like it was nothing and it would be.

You pulled open the door. You almost crashed into Peter as you stepped into the small hall between the restrooms and the office. You caught yourself against the wall.

“Woah.” You squeaked.

“Sorry, I...just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m...just disappointed.”

He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t look so innocent anymore. He looked as if he could see right through you. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I know you think I’m blind but I can tell when you’re upset.” He prodded. “I swear, mum’s the word.”

You sighed and looked out into the office. You turned back to him and pointed down the hall. You sidled along with him and lowered your head. Your stomach flurried wildly as you mustered the words. _How could you say this?_ You’d sound crazy.

“I think you were right about Rusk,” You kept your voice soft. “He...He offered me to share an assignment but I don’t think he really cares about the story.”

Peter blinked. An exaggerated bat of his long lashes as he huffed. “I won’t say it.”

“I know, you told me so, but Peter…” You looked over your shoulder before you continued. “Peter, weird things have been happening. Last night, after you left, I went upstairs and...my window was wide open and...I don’t know. My dresser-- someone was there. Someone broke in again.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asked.

“No, I-I was embarrassed. I thought...when I called them the first time, they were laughing at me. They thought I broke the lock myself, I know it.”

“You should’ve called them.”

“Why? So they can mock me?” You caught yourself before you could raise your voice. “Look, that doesn’t matter what matters is...I think it was Rusk. I mean, it’s stupid but, I think he has...something of mine. Something that would connect him to the break-ins.” You gulped. “The more I think of it, the more I think of how he passed this story off on me about all these attacks, I wonder…” 

“You don’t think it’s him?” Peter asked.

“Of course not. I just think, maybe, he...might have gotten an idea or two.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. He looked as frightened as you felt. “Can you confirm that what you saw, that what he has is really what you think it is?”

“I didn’t notice it missing but I didn’t really look. I was too scared.” You confessed.

Peter’s jaw set and his eyes darted down the hall. “I’ll walk you home again and we’ll see if you’re right.”

“You don’t have--”

“I do. Don’t you realize how dangerous this all is? How do you know you won’t walk in and catch him in the act? Or maybe he decides to visit while you’re home?” He gently touched your elbow. “You’re leaving on time tonight and I’m going with you.”

You scratched your head and looked away. You were embarrassed. You were being comforted, protected even, by this boy. Well, maybe you should drop the ruse. He was braver than most men you knew. And he was technically an adult and you really weren’t that much older. That became even more obvious when he was with you.

🕷️

The subway ride was long. Silent and tense. You fidgeted beside Peter, embarrassed and reassured by his presence all at once. He sent you small glances; stifled smiles meant to calm you. But they only served to remind you of why he was there.

Up the concrete steps and across the rush hour street, you had to stop at the front door of your building to catch your breath. Your chest felt as if it was being crushed. 

Peter patted your shoulder and said softly, “It’s okay,” and you carried on.

Your apartment door still bore signs of the previous break in. The new lock was shiny against the flaked paint and torn wood. You slid your key in and turned. You opened it slowly as you peeked inside, certain you’d find your tormentor within. Nothing.

Peter followed you in and chained the door behind him as if to assuage you. You looked away ashamed. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

“No.” He said. “I don’t think so. Just scared, and why wouldn’t you be?”

You nodded and turned away from him. Warily you walked across the front room and glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Peter followed closely as you neared the short hall that led to your bedroom. You spun back to him. 

“I’ll go see if--if I was right.” You stopped him. “Wait here.”

“Wait here? Shouldn’t I--”

“I’ll scream if I need you.” You replied. “Okay?”

“Of course,” He relented. “I’ll be here.”

You left him there, a concerned furrow in his brow. You entered the bedroom, the dresser drawer was still open but the window was locked and in place. The sight reassured you. You slowly walked across the room and stopped before the drawer. 

You sifted through the messy contents, your hands growing frantic as the cornflower panties were nowhere to be found. Next you checked the hamper, maybe you’d worn them that week. They weren’t there.

You stumbled back out to the hall numbly. You felt hollow and worn. You caught yourself on the wall before your legs could give out.

Peter was by the coffee table. You watched as he reached for the knife you’d left there and he lifted it to the dim light peeking in through the windows. He turned to you with a question curled in his lips.

“It’s not there...he took it.” You pushed yourself straight and stepped fully into the room. “I can’t believe--It can’t be, Peter.”

“But you _do_ believe,” He said and he turned the knife in his fingers. “You must. I mean--” He gestured to the blade. “You wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t believe.”

“Should I call the cops now?”

“You could but...You’ve corrupted the scene, right? It’s been what? A day?” He set down the knife and sighed.

“So what do I do? I--Jesus, why am I asking you? You shouldn’t be dealing with all this.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to deal with it.” He assured you as he neared you. “There’s only one thing you can do. You have to wait for him to try again.”

“What?” You reeled. “What if--”

“With me.” He gently reached out and took your hand. He squeezed it as he spoke. “You can’t stay here. Not alone. So either you come stay with me or I’m staying here, but I can’t let you be alone.”

“Peter, you’re too nice. You shouldn’t--”

“But I am, so I’m either going to settle in or you’re going to pack a bag.” His grip tightened on your hand before he released you suddenly, as if recalling that he was touching you.

“It’s too much.” 

“Anyone would do it. Anyone who cared.” He shrugged. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“I can’t sleep here.” You said.

“Alright,” His jaw set determinedly. “So, grab a change of clothes and let’s go.”

You nodded shyly and let your leather shoulder bag fall to your elbow. Your lips parted to ask if he was sure and he tilted his head sternly.

“Come on,” He intoned. “I’m hungry. Once we’re outta here we can grab something.”

“O-okay,” You gave a weak smile and he mirrored it.

You turned away and dragged your feet back to the bedroom. Every time you entered, you were reminded of the open window, the ghastly breeze, and the stab of fear deep in your gut. You went to your dresser and blindly grabbed for a set of clothes to shove in your shoulder bag. A night away from this place would be good; safe.

🕷️ 

Peter’s apartment was small but cozy. Lived in but neat. It was almost endearing. The Playstation controller on the coffee table, the throw still curled in the shape of his body on the couch, posters of his favourite comics on the walls. He apologized for the mess but you assured him, you seen worse from men older than him.

He was courteous. He took your bag and led you to the bedroom. He insisted on taking the couch. He dug out his second set of sheets from his closet and placed the piled neatly atop with a promise to fix up the bed after you ate. He didn’t listen to your protests, merely brushed you back through to the living room.

You sat beside him on the couch. You felt welcome but uneasy. You always found it awkward to be in anothers space. Peter pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with his thumb. 

“Sorry, I’m not much of a cook.” He chuckled. “You like pizza? Chinese?”

“I’m not picky,” You replied.

“Easy to please?” He ventured playfully.

“In certain ways,” You squinted at him. “How about Mexican?”

“Sure,” He scrolled on the screen and turned the phone to you. “Here. Pick something.”

You took his phone and browsed the menu. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the day before; nothing more than your usual morning coffee. Your stomach growled and you restrained yourself to a vegetarian dish. Overdo it and you’d wake up in agony. Thirty loomed closer every day.

You handed his phone back and he quickly picked his own dish and hit confirm. You rubbed your hands together nervously. You looked around his small apartment. It reminded you of college; of the useless degree hidden in the back of your closet.

“I’ll send you the money.” You offered.

“You won’t. My treat.” He insisted.

“But...you’ve already done so much.”

“What’s a couple bucks?” He shrugged. “So, you like video games? I got a second controller around here somewhere.”

“Does Tetris count?” You teased.

“I have Tetris,” He smirked. 

“I was kidding.” You took the controller from him as he handed it to you. “But no, I don’t play very much.”

“That’s okay.” He grabbed his own controller and switched on the t.v. “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenged. “You wouldn’t be talking shit if we _were_ playing Tetris.”

“We’ll see who’s talking shit at the end of the night.” He jibed as he sat beside you. 

You shook your head and laughed at him. You could almost forget that he was the upstart kid with his oversized camera. Or the break-ins. Or that you were here hiding. The fear seemed to dissipate when faced with his perennial optimism.

🕷️ 

After you ate, you found yourself even more tired than before. You didn’t recall dozing but Peter woke you with a nudge and helped you up. He showed you to the bedroom where he’d made up the bed for you. You thanked him groggily, your fatigue catching up to you, and he left you with lingering good night.

When the door closed, you grabbed your bag and clumsily pulled out the loose tee and pair of booty shorts. You changed and draped your worn clothes over the bag and shoved it aside. You got up to turn off the light and stumbled back to the mattress, landing stomach first across it. You hugged the pillow as sleep beckoned you forth.

It hit you all once. You slept so deeply your head felt full of sand. Your body too. Your mind was murky. Shadows rose from the depths but never fully formed. You forgot your existence, the open window, the missing panties, and Rusk’s open bag. Hours passed like seconds and eternity felt possible.

You awoke to fingertips on your cheek. Gentle as they coaxed you back to the surface. As you emerged from the depths, your chest clutched. Your eyes fluttered open, your lids heavy and lashes sharp. There was a dim light in the room, soft and eerie. A shadow laid beside you, its fingers traced the line of your jaw as it watched you awake.

Your vision cleared a little at a time. You recognized Peter through the haze. His warm brown eyes were dilated and dark. You reached up and caught his hand as he pressed his body against yours.

“What are you doing?” Your tongue was thick and your words awkward.

“Shh, it’s okay,” He pulled his hand away and dragged his fingers over your lips as he leaned in to smell your hair. 

“P-Peter,” You grabbed for his wrist. “Stop.”

Your hand missed his and hit his shoulder instead. You shoved against him but he didn’t flinch. He was stronger than he looked. You tried to sit up but he caught your neck and held you to the pillow. 

_How long had you been asleep? How long had he been there?_

“Peter, please,” You reached for his hand as it stretched across your throat. “What--”

“I won’t hurt you. I only want to keep you safe.” His breath was hot against your cheek as his lips brushed your skin. “Don’t you want to be safe?”

“Let me go, Peter,” You squeezed his wrist. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” His hand didn’t move but he pulled back to look you in the eye. “I’m protecting you.”

Your hand trembled as you pleaded again. His name died in the air.

“From the city.” He breathed. “From Rusk.”

“You-you are,” You rasped. “You’ve kept me safe, but...this...don’t you want me to feel safe. This isn’t--”

“You can’t see it. You _aren’t_ safe. This city is dangerous and you need me.”

“I do need you, okay?” You bartered. “Of course I do, Peter, but...I need sleep, too. I’m very tired.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He shifted closer and your body tensed. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Peter--”

“Let me take care of you.” He moved lithely over you as he pulled your hand from his. He framed your face with his fingers and held your head in place. “Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“Peter,” You exclaimed as the tears threatened to rise. This felt like some horrid nightmare. “W-We’re fr-friend, aren’t we? Friends don’t do this.”

He blinked. He glared at you and his face slowly softened. “Friends...no, we’re more than that.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’re mine. We’re meant to be. Can’t you see that?” His thumbs ran along your cheeks as his breath glossed over your lips. “In a city this big, to be brought together, it’s fate.”

You stared at him. Stunned, horrified. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not like him.” He hissed as his eyes turned dark. He focused on your lips hungrily. “I won’t use you, like him. Manipulate you.” You gulped as his lips hovered just above yours. “Violate you. Invade your space...steal from you.” 

He pressed his mouth to yours and you squirmed beneath him. Your hands were caught under him. His torso was bare and the heat of his body shrouded you. You struggled to breathe as he kissed your forcefully, as he crushed himself against you. You felt his arousal as it poked you and your eyes rounded desperately.

He pulled away at last. His lips made a trail along your cheeks as he spoke between little pecks. “Can’t you see how much better I am than him? Than anyone?” 

You wriggled under him but it only seemed to encourage him. You slipped your arms from beneath him and pushed against his sides. He drew his hands away from your face and caught your wrists. He pulled them up beside your head and pushed himself up as he pinned them to the mattress.

“Who does that, hmm? I’m better than him. I’d never...take your panties like some pervert. I’d never--”

“Panties?” You croaked and his eyes flashed. “How do you--Peter?”

“He’s just a pervert, don’t you understand? But I love you. I love all of you. I want all of you.” 

He squeezed your wrists and you watched the muscles of his arms draw taut. His chest was broader than you imagined and his torso was finely lined. You stopped your eyes before they could venture further. He was naked.

“If you love me, Peter, you’ll wait. Wait for me, won’t you?” You cooed. 

“Wait? I’ve waited.” He sneered. “I’ve watched you fawn after Rusk and I’m done waiting.”

“Peter, I don’t care about Rusk, I swear, but I’m not ready. I’m tired. I need... sleep. Can’t you wait for me…” You stared up into his dark eyes. “I-I--” Your nerves flurried wildly. You’d never been so afraid. “I love you, too.” You lied. “So won’t you wait?”

He exhaled and his lips parted. He blinked and a smile crawled across his lips. “You--Say it again.”

“I-I love you,” You whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

He bent and kissed you again. This time harder, deeper. He didn’t stop until you were out of breath. Until your eyes were damp with tears. He sat back and straddled you between his thick thighs. You quickly looked away from his hard cock. He let go of your wrists but you didn’t move. You were too afraid.

He lifted himself slightly as he tugged the hem of your shirt free. He inched it up, his fingers feeling along your skin as he did. Your strength returned and you caught his hands before he could bare your chest. You were shaking.

“I want to wait, Peter.” You begged. “Don’t you love me?”

“I do, I do,” He rocked atop you, almost frantic. “I do but I can’t. I can’t wait. I need you. I love you so much.”

You whimpered as he twisted his hands away from you. His thighs pressed against you and reminded you of his strength. You closed your eyes as your arms fell to the mattress. You were so weak. So afraid. And you could do nothing.

He shoved your shirt over your chest and you heard the gasp fall from him. He pulled the fabric past your head and tossed it aside. He bent over you as he cupped your tits, his thumb circled your nipples. “Beautiful,” He groaned as nuzzled your skin. 

His lips tickled along your cleave and the curve of your chest. His tongue teased your bud as his fingers played with the other. He closed his mouth around your nipple and teethed it softly. He purred and you bit your lip. 

His touch stoked something within you. It wasn’t him, just the basest of your instincts. A carnal reaction long withheld. 

He kneaded your flesh with hand and mouth. He tended to you as if you were delicate and yet so firmly you could not resist. You couldn’t think to. _Was it fear? Was it weakness? Was it a latent desire you refused to accept?_

Then he moved lower. His lips and teeth made the treacherous crawl along your stomach. The dread built as he moved further and further, as he lifted himself from your waist and his fingers tickled you. As he slid your shorts down your thighs and legs. As you let him. 

You still didn’t move. You pressed your legs together but he easily wrenched them apart. Another confirmation of your helplessness.

His nose brushed along your vee and his warm breath crested your pelvis. His hands slipped up and he pressed his thumbs to your hip bones as he settled between your legs. You closed your legs around his head in an effort to keep him away but you only welcomed him closer. You looked down at him, eyes sparkling as he gazed back. Then slowly his focus descended.

He dipped his head and you writhed. Tried to get away but it was just as futile. He rubbed the tip of his nose along your pussy and his tongue followed shyly. He dragged it slowly along your lips then back down. He pushed between them and flicked over your clit. 

You spasmed and his hands squeezed your hips. He repeated the motion and you cried out in surprise. His tongue was cool against your warm folds. It felt good even when your head told you it shouldn’t. He swirled around your bud and pressed his lips around it. He sucked and lapped then slipped his tongue down again. He drank you in and savoured your taste.

You covered your face as your other hand clawed at the blanket below. You whined, weak and wretched. You felt the rise. The ripple as it rolled along your spine. The buzzing in your thighs. The pulsing of your core. Every nerve wound together and his tongue untangled them all at once.

You rocked your pelvis into his face as you came. Wanting him to stop but not. You needed more. The release was overwhelming and left you dizzy. And he kept on. He teased your overly sensitive clit so that you squirmed. Until another climax rose and you bit into your hand to keep from screaming. And still he kept on.

You were breathless and baffled when he finally lifted his head. Your sight was blurry as you shyly looked down at him. His lips glistened as they came into focus and he crawled over you. He kissed you; wet and warm. You could taste your sweetness as he forced his tongue against yours. 

He snaked his arms up under your back and hooked his hands around your shoulders. He pushed his thighs to yours as he lifted you. He sat up with you against him. You hung from his grasp as his lips wrestled with yours. He kept you aloft with one arm as he felt around between you.

You flinched as you felt his tip against you. He grazed your clit and you twitched. He pressed along your folds and stopped at your entrance. He pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes as he pushed his head inside of you. You grabbed his shoulders and tired to shove yourself away from him. His arm clung to you tightly.

He eased into you until he bottomed out. He sighed and his hand grasped your hip. He began to rock you against him, his own pelvis tilting with yours. He hummed and kissed your jaw, nibbled along your neck, and bit into the flesh of your throat. He sucked as he moved you against him. And you were horrified as you let him.

He felt good. He shouldn’t, but he did. You slung your arms over his shoulders without thinking and chased the peak before you. He moved you faster, harder against him. You felt your juices spreading between your bodies. His hand slid down your back and he stretched his fingers across your ass. He guided your body and you followed his lead.

You were panting, desperate for another orgasm. Your clit rubbed against him with each rock of your hips. With each thrust, you moved faster, eager to reach the pinnacle. You gasped and groaned. A voice told you it was wrong but it didn’t _feel_ wrong. 

Peter buried his head in your chest. He hummed as he took a nipple in his mouth and bounced you against him. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his back and you threw your head back. You came with a sharp cry. Your body shook against his and the world dissembled. The worries in the back of your mind drowned beneath the waves.

He fell forward until your back was to the mattress. He thrust into you as your legs curled around him. His hand was at your chin again, cradling your face as he lifted his lips to yours. He kissed you, consumed you. 

He moaned into your mouth and his hips stammered. His motion turned erratic and he lifted his head to grit back a roar. The tension squared his jaw and drained from him all at once. He sank into you as deep as he could go, long soft strokes as he came. 

He dropped down over you, his head beside yours as he panted. He shuddered and groaned. His body went limp atop you, his fingers lazily caressed your cheek. The glow sloughed away and the room grew darker. The lines were bolder, the shadows more sinister, the colours greyed. 

You pulled your arms back and pushed on his shoulder. He didn’t move. Didn’t even react. You tried again and slowly he lifted his head. He pushed himself into you as deep as he could go and you whimpered.

“Can’t you feel how much I love you?” He didn’t relent. Didn’t pull back as your walls strained around him. “Can’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak. He was stabbing your cervix painfully and you just wanted him away from you.

“I can feel your love.” He thrust and poked you again. You squeaked. “You love me.” He began to move steadily. “You love me.” He repeated with each tilt of his hips. “You love me.” You closed your eyes as the mantra filled the room. “You love me.”

“I love you,” You croaked through your tears. “I love you.” 

But he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. 

You were trapped in the spider’s web. Live prey paralysed as he wrapped his legs around you. As he devoured you entirely.

🕷️ 🕷️ 🕷️ 


End file.
